


Idolatry

by vtn



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Manic Street Preachers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-10
Updated: 2008-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erol and Rory go to a Manics concert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idolatry

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Erol's fanboying in his first BBC1 A to Z mix. For the record, no, Erol is not underage in this story.

It's a classic London night, cold and newly damp, and Erol shivers, shares the warm front pockets of Rory's fur-lined coat with Rory's icy hands. The air vibrates with their excitement. Both of them are having trouble keeping their feet off the ground.

"Here, you need—" Rory takes one hand out of his pocket, and frowns. "Ugh, frigid night isn't it," he mutters, and then rummages around in a different pocket for a tube of red lipstick. "I think this'll finish off the look."

"Oh no…." Erol laughs. "You can't be serious." Rory just gives him that grin that Erol would throw himself off a cliff for. Rory's just that kind of friend. All the charm and wit involved in getting people to do the things Rory himself never would. He's like that Harry bloke in Dorian Grey—ooh, Erol thinks proudly as he purses his lips for Rory to apply lipstick, he's just name-checked Oscar Wilde.

Covered in glitter, decked out like "Virginia Plain"-era Brian Eno, the two boys get their wristbands and exchange high fives (they're both just barely eighteen and it's definitely still a matter of pride at this point). They move into the club, shrugging off a whispered accusation or two of sexual deviancy and pushing their way through the packed room. Tonight they'll be in the front row if it kills them. Because _he's_ going to be here.

"Did you read about what he did in the NME?" Erol asks, tugging on Rory's sleeve.

"Yes, and even if I hadn't done I'd have heard you say it ninety-seven times," says Rory, but he's smiling.

But Erol can't stop talking about it—can't stop thinking about seeing him in person. Richey is basically his favorite person, he has decided. He's this tortured poet and with the most beautiful face you could imagine, and Erol just wishes he could aspire to the kind of exquisite pain and love that tears you apart inside and makes you into a person like Richey Edwards.

"I can't believe it," says Erol, burying his head in Rory's suede-covered arm.

"Oh, shut up," says Rory amicably, and then, "God I can't believe it either." He reaches out and yanks Erol forward through a group of girls applying makeup in little pocket mirrors, slamming Erol's hipbones roughly into the barrier. Erol grins his widest and the two of them settle in and crane their necks up toward the stage.

The lights go up and Erol just about has an aneurysm. Once he's recovered, the music is, of course, everything it could be. All the songs he loved on the album are twice as sweet played live without the shiny matte of production. It's just the emotion hitting him full-front. And it's James singing lyrics he obviously doesn't know fuck of what they're about but still wants to put his whole self into, it's Nicky prancing about in tight jeans and a girl's top, it's pretty Sean banging away in the background.

And Richey. It's Richey. Richey with his shirt buttons undone, Richey with his red lips, Richey with his violent eyes, Richey touching James and Nicky like they're his lovers—Erol shivers and his head fills with glorious decadent images, because what if they _are_ his lovers, oh what if they _are_.

He and Rory look at each other at the same time and grin widely, knowing well they're both thinking the same thought.

Midway through "Love's Sweet Exile", which Erol is belting at the top of his lungs, Richey scans the crowd like he's hungry. _Rain down alienation_ , Erol is shouting, and there are Richey's eyes on him, and their eyes connect, and Erol smiles so hard he thinks his lips will split, and there's this madness in Richey's eyes that goes right to Erol's groin. He grabs Rory's arm—Rory's probably sore there by now—and bounces up and down until he can regain coherent thought.

"He looked at me, fucking hell he looked at me, at me! Don't you think so?"

"I do!" Rory laughs ecstatically and now it's his turn to bounce and clutch Erol's shoulder. "Holy shit! You lucky bastard!"

As the show goes on, Erol keeps thinking he sees Richey's eyes on him again. And then he realizes it's not his imagination when Richey singles him out, points at him with a ring-adorned finger, and mouths 'want you'. Erol feels his face burn red. He gulps and nods.

And afterward it's all confusion, Richey pulling him into a door and him flailing at Rory and shouting that he'll catch a cab and Rory shouting back that Erol has to tell him everything. Then he's falling sweat-soaked and panting and hot against Richey's side and Richey is stealing his lips in a messy kiss and it feels like Richey loves him.

Backstage is a mess of equipment. The other band members are packing away their instruments, having drinks, entertaining girls. Richey walks Erol in with a hand around his waist, kisses Erol's neck, murmurs that he'll be right back.

"Hey, kid," says James, and Erol is thinking oh my god you're James Bradfield but he just raises a hand nonchalantly and says, "Hey." James hands him a glass of beer which Erol takes gratefully.

"Look out for yourself," says James.

"I will," Erol says. James starts to leave. "Oh—do you think…" and he's going to ask James to sign his CD, which he has carefully folded into a shirt in his bag, but then he looks at James's face and sees just a man, and he says, "Never mind."

He drinks his beer and waits for Richey. He waits while Nicky goes into the dressing room. He listens:

"Are you fucking kidding me," Nicky says.

"What?"

"The kid in the other room must be fifteen."

"Like hell he is."

"I think you should think twice before you go around fucking every pretty thing you see. You're ruining lives."

"I'm gonna mess him up good, yeah," Richey says more softly. "That's what they come here for."

Erol sticks his hand between his legs.

"I'm just saying I think you should think twice."

"I'm just saying I think it's my life and I do what I want with it."

Richey comes out of the room a few moments later, after Erol has finished his beer. It's remarkably easy, Erol thinks. It's just like going home with anybody else. Richey's reassuring arm slung across Erol's shoulder as he hails a cab and the two of them climb in. Richey lighting up and blowing smoke in Erol's face.

Richey is high, Erol realizes as they get out in front of his flat. He took something in the dressing room. Erol doesn't really care.

"How old _are_ you?" Richey says when Erol's on his bed and Richey is undressing him.

"Eighteen," Erol mutters, a bit miffed.

"And your name?" Richey says, softer.

"Erol Alkan."

"Mm, Erol." Richey nuzzles Erol's stomach. "I like you, Erol."

"Pardon," says Erol, realizing he sounds a complete idiot. "Can I get your clothes off?" Richey just giggles against Erol's skin and licks around his navel. It makes Erol squirm. He takes it as an assent, though, and he gets on the floor next to Richey and starts pulling his shirt off.

And there it is, _4 REAL_ in Richey's arm. Erol runs his fingers across it and it makes Richey groan from deep in his chest.

"That ok?" Erol asks.

"'s better than ok, it's good," Richey murmurs. Erol gets Richey's trousers off him and then they lie on the floor naked, Erol running his fingers up and down Richey's still-healing arm, Richey's breaths getting shorter, his cock getting harder.

Then without warning Richey moves, starts kissing Erol hard, starts spreading Erol with his fingers. Erol tangles his hands in Richey's hair, and Richey kisses and bites Erol's neck and sticks the fingers of one hand into Erol's mouth to wet them. Erol sucks Richey's fingers as obscenely as he can, dipping his tongue into the valleys between fingers, scraping with his teeth as Richey gets them out of Erol's mouth.

And then Richey takes him, gets deep into Erol and bites Erol's shoulder, and it's all about Richey then, as he presses Erol into the floor and even when the tip of his cock nudges against Erol's prostate and Erol gets Richey's stomach wet with his own precome, and especially as Richey comes inside Erol, shifting and twitching and slamming Erol against the floorboards until his orgasm subsides.

"I feel holy," says Erol.

"Baby you ought to feel debased," Richey murmurs.

He sucks Erol, then, traces his thumbs over Erol's stomach and takes Erol's cock deep into his mouth. By that time Erol's already coming, and he blushes, but Richey just licks Erol's come off his lips and grins this animal grin.

"Come here," Richey says, pulling Erol close to him. "Get in my bed and sleep with me, baby. I'll make you breakfast tomorrow." He strokes Erol's hair and neck and shoulder blades. "Pretty thing, I'm'a treat you real nice, okay?"

As good as that sounds, Erol knows he doesn't want to see what Richey looks like in the brutally honest light of a London morning.

"I have to go," Erol says.

"Don't go, baby," Richey says, his voice almost breaking. He kisses Erol's temple. "I'll sign your records. I'll buy you something pretty."

"I have to go," Erol says again. He gets off the floor and starts to dress. For a moment he's angry, he's disgusted, he doesn't believe what he sees and he doesn't want to.

And then he's out the door and he's racing down the stairs of the apartment complex and he's swinging around the newel posts and shaking and grinning like an idiot because he definitely just had sex with Richey Edwards and it was definitely fantastic and debauched and just like Richey should be.

He phones for a cab. While he's waiting he phones Rory.

"Bastard," says Rory.

"Were you asleep?" Erol teases.

"A little." Yeah, a little asleep. Right. "Well? Did you?"

"I did," Erol singsongs.

"Why's it always you?"

"Next time it'll be you all right?"

"So there's definitely going to be a next time?"

"Absolutely, are you kidding, that was fucking amazing, they have got to be my favoritest band in the history of everything ever!" Erol laughs into the line and there is a pause.

"And…" Rory says. The question sits there unasked.

"Really, really good."

"I want details later you know."

"Oh, I'll give you a full reenactment," and because Erol has an evil streak like that, he hangs up and leaves Rory with the thought. His cab's coming around the corner anyway, and he needs to get home and rest. Tomorrow is full of possibility, and he wants to be ready.


End file.
